


Adrenaline

by WhiskeySoda



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Choking Kink, District 9 AU, Jeongin is a behaviorally activated bodyguard/sex clone, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Jeongins, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 13:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15486483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeySoda/pseuds/WhiskeySoda
Summary: Pressure envelops his neck and caustic bile rises in his throat.  Their cocks, covered by layers of clothing graze against one another, as if unaware of the tension between them is not only tinged with desire, but aggression. “Jeong-in,” is torn from his throat in a harsh gasp dripping in dual edged desperation.Seungmin’s words, meek to the point of desperation, soften Jeongin’s expression. His mouth drawn into a firm line, drops into a soft pink pout. His brow unfurrows. Like watching a telescopic lens, Jeongin’s pinhole dilated pupils blow out and go wide.HI IF YOU THREATEN ME WITH VIOLENCE ON TWITTER YOU WILL BE REPORTED. IF YOU HARASS ME IN COMMENTS YOU WILL BE REPORTED TO AO3 FOR VIOLATING TOS.





	Adrenaline

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll kno ya in the moderated comment zone. This story will make more sense if you've read my Jeongwoo fic and my minseung fic.

Seungmin’s first thought is _how_? How can anyone sit that way….and look comfortable?

When he enters the common area, he finds Jeongin sitting on the sunk in, threadbare sofa with one leg tucked up under his bottom, and the other leg extended back as if he were in some kind of yoga pose.

Instead of being contorted in pain, like most would, Jeongin’s expression is almost serene.

He’d think it strange, if it wasn’t how normal weird was for Jeongin. He can fall asleep anywhere: here on the common room sofa, or on the cold asphalt floor, or face down on Changbin’s control panel. Of course, his eyes are open wide and unblinking every time.

Seungmin has watched Jeongin reach into a bag of dry rice, raise the grains to his mouth, and crunch them between his teeth. He saw Jeongin accidentally put his hand through a glass window and not only escape unscratched, but _laugh_ when he saw his wrist suspended in air on either side of the window.

 Mouth slightly parted, eyes cast downward onto the book in his hand, he looks completely at rest. Seungmin would never tell, but it’s cute really, the way that he mouths the words as he reads and bites his lower lip in concentration when he tries to get the pages unstuck from one another.

Seungmin’s first thought is _how_?  Seungmin’s second thought is, _vulnerable_. The third thought, _get him._

When he’s so engrossed in the book, it’s easy to press himself against the wall and creep behind the sofa. What is less easy is parting his lips and wetting the tip of his finger with spit without laughing.

Somehow, he manages. Leans over the back of the sofa and jams his spit dampened finger into Jeongin’s ear.

For a moment, it’s so worth it. Jeongin launches the book so hard that it smacks against the wall. His eyes go wide like big dinner plates, and his forehead bunches up. Jeongin whips his leg around so quickly that he almost falls off of the sofa, and it’s the funniest thing that’s happened since this morning when he blindsided Changbin and got him in a headlock. Jeongin, is usually so graceful that his movements rival those of Felix and Minho.

Now? Seeing Jeongin graceless and flailing is both rare and amazing, and it’s something that only Seungmin gets to see, because Seungmin is the only one that antagonizes him this way.  

Although winding Jeongin up only takes _seconds,_ regret is something that happens much, much more slowly for Seungmin. An icy cold hand is wrapped around Seungmin’s wrist.  Then, Seungmin is yanked over the backrest of the sofa, and together he and Jeongin tumble to the floor.

He’s quick to write it off as one of their ~~daily~~ hourly scuffles. Jeongin is like an itch that he can’t scratch. His presence, his voice, the mischievous looks he gives over his shoulder, bubble underneath Seungmin’s skin every time he’s near Jeongin. At the midpoint between irritating and wonderful, there’s nothing that he wants more than to make Jeongin feel it too.

So as soon as Seungmin’s body hits the floor, he’s rolling over. His goal is to take every ounce of strength he possesses to try and pin Jeongin’s arms above his shoulders so he can free up one of his hands to tickle his ribs.

But he never makes it that far.

In the past when Jeongin has pushed him over, it’s always been struggled and graceless. Whatever height, or weight, or experience Seungmin has on him, its minimal and they’re evenly matched. Not like Changbin who has a compact body or Hyunjin who looms over them all, and therefore require premeditated attacks.

Now, Jeongin wraps a leg behind his knee and leverages his body weight like he’s no obstacle at all. 

They scuffle and roll, body pressed to body. Jeongin’s fingers, which are always too cold, dig into skin and muscle like cold fire brands.  Seungmin claws at his back and Jeongin’s shirt is rucked upward.  The action draws no reaction, only draws Jeongin’s body closer, and finally, _finally_ something like heat emanates from Jeongin’s skin.

Everything about Jeongin is deceptive, after all, that’s how he was _designed_ to be. Yet, it wasn’t until this very moment that he noticed just how much of Jeongin’s body was made of unyielding, tight muscle wrapped underneath impossibly soft skin.

“Just give up already.” Except, Seungmin is absolutely trapped. “Cause when I get you back it’s going to be so bad.” Seungmin rolls his hips against Jeongin in an attempt to throw him off, but Jeongin does not move.

He does it again anyway, because if Jeongin makes him feel stuck somewhere between irritated and wonderful, grinding against Jeongin pushes that feeling into _wonderful._

 “Hey,” it comes out like a drunk slur from the corner of his mouth, but he can’t help it. His own hot body against Jeongin, unnaturally cool, should amount to nothing more than lukewarm, but somehow that isn’t the case. Each shift of Jeongin’s body throws a spark, and each roll of his own hips fan a flame. At some point Jeongin’s knee is between his legs, and he’s got no other choice other than push up against Jeongin or give up.

There’s no way he’s going to give Jeoungin the satisfaction of giving up.  

Seungmin likes it. He likes the way that Jeongin is rough with him. Likes the way that his skin hums with the sting, and proof of their contact. Likes the way that he twists and moves and his body _aches_ in the best kind of way. All he’s ever wanted from Jeongin was a reaction. All he’s ever dreamed of was knowing that he gets under Jeongin’s skin, just as deep and just as abrasive as Jeongin is for him.

In the scuffle, Seungmin manages to push on top, and he’s at an odd angle. He’s got no choice other than crawl up Jeongin’s body and lie his weight flat against Jeongin.

But this moment of control is fleeting. Jeongin gets him turned to his side. Seungmin is rolled onto his back, and his arms are pinned above his head. Jeongin twists and intertwines their legs in such a way that Jeongin lays flush against his body, and Seungmin cannot move his legs at all.

 “C’mon,” Seungmin can feel it too, not just the sudden _pulse-throb_ of his cock twitching in his pants and growing hard, but Jeongin’s too. The undeniable weight of Jeongin’s cock pokes against his thigh. “Let me—“

Seungmin parts his tongue with his lips, but wetting them does nothing except make him feel _more_ parched. Let him what? Kiss him? Unzip his pants, and then what? The answer is _obvious,_ but the realization that maybe his constant desire to get under Jeongin’s skin is something _more than_ the desire for attention hits his gut as hard as any of Jeongin’s retaliatory blows.

That feeling hits hard, but not nearly as hard as the realization that he’s done something _very_ , _very_ wrong. Jeongin hasn’t responded once, but his icy fingers squeeze Seungmin so hard that his wrists ache. Jeongin’s weight feels unbearable against his body, as if the other boy purposefully leveraged to cause him as much pain as possible.

Catching Jeongin by surprise is funny for a fraction of a second. Except, somewhere between flailing, dragging him over the side of the sofa, and being turned over, scared and graceless Jeongin was pushed away. Another Jeongin is snapped back into place. Not Jeongin, who belches loudly in the middle of dinner, or Jeongin who belts out trot songs so loudly in the shower it can be heard down the hallway. Not Jeongin at all. What Seungmin sees in that lightening flash moment when their eyes meet is an I.N. Unit, activated and ready.

In his brain, every last word of Woojin’s field notes on I.N. Units are dumped out onto the basin of his skull, and the words are kicked about by his own panic. Bits and pieces come and go, flashing before his eyes. Shards of information such as _trigger response activated,_ and _not hesitant to use lethal force_ , and _altered mental state upon provocation_ , prick at his brain and make reaction difficult.

When he’s pinned down completely and helpless, there’s nothing to do other than look upon Jeongin with slack jawed horror. Jeongin’s jaw is clenched tight. Glassy eyes bore into his soul, leaving Seungmin to wonder what deep secrets that Jeongin extracts.

Because it’s all one sided. Jeongin’s expression is blank.

 It’s one thing to see the aftermath of what an I.N. Unit can do. But, _fear_ raw and animal like stings at the nape of his neck when he remembers what he knows _Jeongin_ , this I.N. Unit is capable of. He saw what he did to his former captor, blood and brains scattered across the floor when he decided he’d had enough.

Impossibility washes over him in waves, each one mounting higher and higher threatening to drag him into the undercurrent. Impossible to swallow the lump in his throat, impossible to throw Jeongin off of him, impossible for him to remember how they _turned off_ whatever this was the last time this happened, and through it all, something inside of Seungmin wilts underneath Jeongin’s touch.

“Please,” escapes his mouth in a pathetic moan-whine.

Jeongin shifts his weight, squaring his frame against Seungmin’s. Faster than lightning strikes, Jeongin’s hands move from Seungmin’s wrists to around his neck. _Pressure_ envelops his neck and caustic bile rises in his throat. Yet, in the back of his mind, he knows that this is _nothing._ His vision does not tunnel at the edges under the pressure. Breathing is difficult, but not impossible. He knows that if Jeongin wanted him dead, he already would be.

 Their cocks, covered by layers of clothing graze against one another, as if unaware of the tension between them is not only tinged with desire, but aggression. There is no part of Jeongin’s body that is heavier upon him than the place where Jeongin is pressed against him, and in that moment, his body decides that desire edges out fear. “Jeong-in,” is torn from his throat in a harsh gasp dripping in dual edged desperation.  

Seungmin’s words, meek to the point of desperation, soften Jeongin’s expression. His mouth drawn into a firm line, drops into a soft pink pout. His brow unfurrows. Like watching a telescopic lens, Jeongin’s pinhole dilated pupils blow out and go wide.

Jeongin releases him.

Seungmin gasps, and gasps, and gasps for air, ragged and uneven as if he were learning the innate. This is how to breathe. This is how to breathe for the very first time.

“Seungmin,” Jeongin responds short and breathy. “Seungmin,” he repeats. Jeongin releases his throat, and repositions his hands, one on his chest and the other cupping his jaw.  He makes no effort to move off of Seungmin’s body.  “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”  His chest feels like it _heaves_ with every breath, but he can’t hear his own ragged breath for the rush-roar sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. They’re _so_ close, and yet so far apart, for a moment it feels as if a layer of cellophane hangs between them, and prevents Seungmin from doing _something, anything._ “Jeongin, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

He’s still hard, and so is Jeongin. Like the implication of what could’ve happened is thrown away by the simple fact that it didn’t happen.

“I didn’t hurt you?” The hand cupping Jeongin’s jaw fans out. Fingers press against his cheek, and his lips.

“No,” Seungmin reassures him again. It’s almost the truth.  

“Seungmin?” Pressure on Seungmin’s midsection is lessened. Jeongin rocks upward, and forward.

He sees it coming. Jeongin’s features get closer until all he can see are endless brown eyes. He can feel Jeongin’s breath on his skin, and just like that, Jeongin’s lips are pressed flush with his own. Seungmin is too caught off guard to close his eyes. Jeongin can’t even remember to close his eyes when he’s asleep. It’s far too much to ask of him when he’s kissing.  

Jeongin’s lips are smooth, and kiss him expertly. Jeongin kisses him as if he’d been waiting for this moment, even when Seungmin didn’t even know that he wanted it. Seungmin, caught off guard, gasps into the kiss. 

Jeongin wastes neither time or effort. He breathes hot and needy into the kiss before pressing his tongue between Seungmin’s own parted lips. In no time at all Seungmin’s confused gasp melts into a moan, low and needy.

When they part, Seungmin wants nothing more than to just _go_ with it. But the pain in his wrists and the burn in his throat fight with the pulse of his cock, and in _this_ moment, in _this_ second, logic wins out. “What are you doing Jeongin?”

“I hurt you so,” Jeongin’s gaze casts downward. He bites his lip, and it’s just like when Chan quizzes him over protocol and he doesn’t know the answer. I’m kissing you to make it better.”

He could question it. Arguably, he _should_ question it. He doesn’t exactly understand what made this provocation different, nor does he understand Jeongin’s response. But that moment has passed, and now lies tossed aside in the past. Now, in _this moment,_ in _this second_ , his cock wins without contest.

“Okay,” Seungmin sucks in another breath, “make me feel better Jeongin.”

Seungmin closes his eyes this time, and because of it, it doesn’t matter so much if Jeongin remembers to do so.  Expecting the kiss this time, Seungmin is allowed to feel something other than shock. Because of this allowance, he notices that Jeongin’s lips are as soft and full as they look when they’re sealed over his own mouth.  His breath smells faintly of mint leaves, which grow like weeds in Chan’s garden.

Jeongin doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

Jeongin gives him another quick peck on the mouth, and then another on his jaw, before smashing their mouths back together. Now, Jeongin’s tongue against his own probes slowly, tentatively, as if asking him a question.

Frantically, desperately, Seungmin tries to answer, but the lack of feedback leaves him wondering if he responds to Jeongin’s satisfaction.

Fingers card through Seungin’s hair, and Seungmin fights for whatever swath of skin that Jeongin will allow him to touch. Much like their fight was unevenly matched, Seungmin does not stand as equals with Jeongin now. Jeongin keeps him pinned to the floor. Jeongin decides when to kiss, and where to kiss, and for how long. Similar to the way that his hands wrapped around Seungmin’s neck in a fraction of a second, Jeongin’s pace is brutal.

Jeongin kisses him until his lips are swollen and red like overripe fruit, and keeps on kissing him until the soft skin is tender, and bruised. When Seungmin’s moans slip back into pathetic cries, Jeongin changes location but not technique, pushing his shirt down and fixates first at his pulsepoint, then at the juncture of his neck, and then the lobe of his ears.

He wouldn’t call it formulaic. Just patterned. Jeongin kisses first, then sucks lightly. Then, when Seungmin is melted and desperate under Jeongin’s touch he presses his teeth into soft flesh, and soothes it all back over again with a kiss.

Hands paw at the hem of his shirt. Seungmin’s long given up on trying to make sense of any of it, all wants is relief. Although Jeongin has done nothing more than wind him tight and tease him relentlessly, he blindly, foolishly believes that he’ll do something, anything to provide relief. So, Seungmin pushes fitfully against the floor in an attempt to let Jeongin remove his shirt.

Instead, Jeongin takes the shirt between his fingers and rips the thick fabric of his crewneck away as if it were nothing. The sharp sound of fabric tearing at the seams should push that little button at the base of his neck. Should make terror shoot down his spine, and push Jeongin off of him.

But it doesn’t.

Jeongin cups either side of his chest and peppers blunt kiss-turned-bites on his pectorals, across his stomach, and to the v of his hips.

There’s a rustle of fabric, and cool air hitting his legs. That’s all the warning he gets before Jeongin peels back his pants and his underwear in one single, fluid motion.

“Are you okay Seungmin?” Jeongin looks upon him with wide, expectant eyes. Jeongin blinks slowly, deliberately, and all Seungmin can think about is how impossibly long his lashes are.

“Uh,” Seungmin takes his cock in his hand, but never once has the audacity to break Jeongin’s laser focused gaze. The direct content of skin against skin feels like heaven compared to being trapped against thick denim. Words fail to come to mind, he’s never been good at asking for what he wants. In the past, Changbin’s teased him for it, and denied him what he so desperately wanted.

Now, when Seungmin stammers, “Wh-What about—”

Jeongin doesn’t demand clarification. Doesn’t tease him until his ears sting red. He simply crawls back down the length of Seungmin’s body, and takes his cock into his mouth _completely._

Jeongin’s gaze, diamond tipped and brutal does not relent for a moment, even when Seungmin can feel Jeongin’s throat constrict around his cock.

If it’s approval he’s looking for, Seungmin must certainly give it to him. They’re in the common area, and anyone could walk in at any moment, and yet, he cannot stop the constant cacophonous hum of noises that spill from his mouth.

And Jeongin gives him nothing. Makes no noise to indicate pleasure or displeasure. Doesn’t hum against his cock as he sucks. He’d find it strange, if strange weren’t so normal for Jeongin.

Seungmin combs through Jeongin’s hair with his fingers. Holds Jeongin’s head closer when he tries to pull off of his cock and winds his fingers tighter in those thick black locks when Jeongin has him at his mercy.  Jeongin’s cheeks hollow and his throat bobs as he moves up and down, up and down, pausing only to lavish more attention on the tip of Seungmin’s cock. Tracing the ridge and teasing the slit, he does this over and over again all the while teasing his balls in his hand.

The look of serenity on Jeongin’s face is so similar to when Seungmin walked into the room, right before Seungmin shattered it. It should frighten him, because that serenity was so easily shattered. Instead, Seungmin bucks up into each bob of Jeongin’s mouth. Seungmin’s moans intermingle with the obscene slurping sounds of Jeongin on his cock.

Just when he thinks he’s pulled too far down into oblivion, Jeongin drags him back up and him to get air, prevents him from drowning.

Jeongin pulls back, and in that moment cool air bathes across the spit dampened tip of Jeongin’s cock while warmth pulses across his cheekbones and disperses throughout his face. Jeongin doesn’t offer a moment of reprieve. His hand wraps around Seungmin’s cock, while he pushes Seungmin’s legs up, and back with his free hand.

Body repositioned, Seungmin is completely exposed.

Clipped and disjointed, it all goes down fast that he cannot process the array of sensation and pressure on his body. Perhaps, its for the best. Doesn’t give him time to feel embarrassed or worry if he’s clean. Jeongin spreads his cheeks and _god._ Warm, wet, and pressing against his hole, Jeongin’s mouth is _right there_.

Where Jeongin found a rhythm working on his cock, there is no such consistency in the way that he works his hole. Jeongin presses his tongue flat for a moment before testing the firm band of muscle by pushing with his tongue, and then starting the whole process all over again.

When he becomes used Jeongin’s pace, he turns it upsidedown all over again. Moves his mouth back to his cock, and presses a finger against his hole. In the past, whenever he’s tried this himself it stings. Now, Jeongin enters him easily. Pressure collides with pleasure, and there’s no stopping him now.

When Jeongin finally, _finally_ lets him cum, it rattles his entire body, like a blow delivered in battle. Jeongin’s mouth stays on him, milking him through each twitch, and each spurt, until the addictive upwards swipe of his tongue no longer feels good, but like too much.

Jeongin comes off of Seungmin’s cock with an obscene _pop_ that echoes in the common area. His head lolled to the side, Jeongin parts his lips to reveal thick white cum on the center of his tongue spilling from the corner of his mouth. Clamping his mouth shut tight, Seungmin can see the muscles in his throat constrict as he swallows. Then, Jeongin simply smiles at Seungmin.

When the static clears from his brain, all he’s left with is the ghost of Jeongin’s touch against his skin and the whisper soft feeling of lips press against the crown of his head. “Better, Seungmin?”

* * *

Seungmin always made fun of Changbin for coming to briefings covered in aubergine colored bruises. Seungmin expects Changbin to hand back every taunt he’s ever given him three-fold. Jeongin’s touch was methodical, to the point of mechanization, and no part of his body was left untouched.

He fully expects his neck, shoulders, and chest to be covered with marks.

When he catches sight of himself in the narrow mirror in the shower room, he’s shocked to see that his skin is completely clear. No fingermarks, no love bites. There’s no proof that it ever happened at all. Jeongin pushed him a way when he tried to reciprocate.

He’d find it strange, if strange weren’t so normal for Jeongin.

* * *

 

“So I have this client,” Minho shows up when he wants. Leaves when he wants. Makes the others clean up whatever messes he’s left in his wake when he comes and goes. “He’s absolutely loaded. I think an arms dealer?”

Minho works at the most elite brothel in the city. The information that he gets comes at a high price, but he passes it onto Chan for free. “He’s seen some of the other guys before, but I haven’t been with him until now.

Chan allows Minho to do whatever he wants because he’s got a soft spot for Minho, and so Minho could get away with murder if he really wanted.

“Anyway, he’s got his I.N. Unit with him. I’d seen him with him before, but didn’t think anything of it.”

It helps that Minho is their last link to the world. They made their choice, living in the shadows and moving outside of the system doing their best to dismantle it. Minho works from the inside. Working from the inside means he gets things that they used to take for granted.

Minho takes a chocolate between his fingers, gestures at the tray as if he wants Seungmin to eat more, and then bites into the center.

Cherry cordial red spills out onto his lips, and Minho’s raspberry pink tongue darts out to lap it away. 

So Seungmin does, selecting an oval shaped chocolate, bititng into it, and grimacing. Coconut. He hates coconut.

Minho plucks the chocolate from between his fingers and pops the other half of the candy into his mouth. “Just get another one. So anyway, he wants his I.N. in the room with us, which really weirded me out after getting to know Jeongin you know?”

The very thought sends a bolt of white hot jealousy down his spine.

“Even worse, he like. He did this thing? Like he activated it.”

“Activated it?” Like told him to attack Minho? He sounds too calm to be retelling the story of a harrowing, if not life-threatening fight.

“Yeah, whispered something into his ear, and he started acting drunk. Climbed all over me and wouldn’t get off of me. Ripped off my panties and tried to jerk me off. I couldn’t do it, and I had to call the whole thing off. Chan tried to act like he wasn’t upset, but I know I could’ve gotten something good out of him.”

“I thought they just…fought?” Seungmin is inexperienced in the field. Because of this, his access to Woojin’s notes are limited, not to mention that he’s quite protective of his intelligence. Although Minho is blasé in tone and in mannerism, it’s easy to see that the encounter shook him to the core. His eyes look far away. He doesn’t make eye contact with Seungmin when he speaks.

The acerbic taste of contagion spreads across his tongue faster than the taste of chocolate. Guilt mingles with shame, and makes his stomach turn sour. He doesn’t _need_ Minho to explain, because in his gut he already knows. Knew that when it happened, Seungmin took the hairline crack in Jeongin’s façade and punched it until it blossomed into a large shattered spider web. The broken pieces forced together the person that Jeongin wanted to be with the person he was desperately trying to escape. 

“Oh, yeah,” Minho responds. “They’re programmed to be body guards, but they’re also trained to fuck anything that moves.”

 


End file.
